The Rise of the New Mark - The Birth of the Mark
by Yakashama
Summary: The birth of the greatest change in Wizarding Britain begins in the fires of the First War. In Harry Potter's second year, a new Slytherin, is sorted for his great ambition. Yet Mark Fulghum is a Muggleborn, and his experiences at Hogwarts will shape his destiny, and that of the world's. Covers Mark's entire Hogwarts career. Slow updates. Part 1 of 3 of The Rise of the New Mark
1. Prologue - Beginnings

In the beginning, there was darkness.

In the beginning, nothing could exist.

Yet in the beginning, our story somehow begins….

Born from thoughts, and to thoughts it shall become.

You open your eyes in a dense forest. Trees scrape the ceiling of the sky, all around you. Some, appear to reach the very heavens. I step from the shadows, and greet you, reader.

"Behold the forest of the fantasy. All around you, are stories; worlds without number. The trees, you see, each are a story. Some are bigger than others, and some have offshoots. Let us approach this tree, hm? The tree of Harry Potter." You step forward, and I guide your hand to a certain branch. "Touch, and see my story."

Your fingertips brush the wood.

All goes black…

Fire. One word, yet caring much meaning. The house burned, shouts and voices echoing through the nearby wood. The doorway was smashed in, and a trail of destruction led upstairs. Lights flashed and flickered between the combatants in the upstairs hallway. Two personages, a man and a woman, stood their ground, framed against the roaring flames. Their combatants, however, outnumbered them. With a scream, the woman fell as a sickly red jet of light struck her. Down the hall, a baby cried out for its now dead mother. Another man quickly shushed it, scooping him into the baby beorn and strapping him to his chest. Silent as a mouse, he eased the window open and slipped down the rickety fire escape installed for this purpose. He ran, as fast as he could without jostling the baby. As he reached the tree line of the forest, another shout rang out from the window. "THERE! BY THE TREES!" the Death Eater shouted. Cursing, the man continued to run, even as the cracks of apparition sounded behind him. Sprinting, he came to a motorcycle, partially hidden by leaves. Hearing footsteps, he turned around, only to see the empty mask of the Death Eater. Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out a pistol. The Death Eater laughed.

"Fool! Do you presume that a shiny stick would defeat me, muggle?" The man said nothing and pulled the trigger. A belated shout later, he was already zooming off into the forest, away to his own house far off.

Thus the life of Mark Fulghum began in fire, rescued from his parents' house by his uncle.

The fire roared, and the house collapsed in response, covering the bodies in ash.


	2. Chapter 1 - Ambitions

Chapter 1 – Ambition

5 years later…

Mark yawned and opened his eyes to the sunlight filtering in through the window. He sat up, rubbing at his eyes. He crawled down from the small bed he slept in and toddled through the house to the kitchen.

"Uncle! Breakfeest? Pweeze?" His uncle, Ethan Fulghum, smiled down at the toddler.

"Sure thing Mark! What kind of cereal would you like?"

Later that day, the two were playing catch with a small, soft ball. Back and forth, back and forth they tossed it. Uncle Ethan tossed it under his leg. Mark giggled, and threw the ball high, high up into the air for Uncle Ethan to run and catch. The ball went up, up, up! and down onto the roof of the house. Uncle Ethan grumbled to himself and went to grab the ladder in the garage, not noticing the look of intense concentration on Mark's face. When he came back, the ball was safely ensconced in Mark's chubby little hands. Uncle Ethan smirked. "Why don't we see if we can improve that ability of yours, Mark?" he asked the five-year-old. Mark's eyes went wide and he nodded eagerly.

"Yes! Make ball fly!"

Another five years later…

A ten-year-old Mark sat on the floor, meditating. Ever since watching Star Wars he became obsessed with the idea of the Force. Convinced that his powers were a manifestation of it, he attempted every day to lift objects around the house. His Uncle did caution him not to show others, and restricted him to practicing indoors. Currently cross-legged, they sat together around that same small, squishy ball. A look of focus came over Mark's face. Slowly, ever so slowly, the ball hovered in the air, rising.

"SQAUWK!" An owl crashed into the window. Mark cursed as his concentration broke and the ball fell to the floor.

"An owl?! In the daytime, uncle?" He opened the window and got a mouthful of feathers as the bedraggled bird flew in the window. His uncle merely smirked.

"It seems to have a letter for you, Mark" he gestured to the rolled-up piece of parchment the owl carried. Mark's eyes widened in disbelief.

How absurd he thought. Reaching out gingerly, he untied the letter and rolled it open. His eyes widened in disbelief as he read through the missive. He turned accusingly to his still smirking uncle. "You knew!" he said.

"Oh yes, nephew. I did indeed know. This gift you have is called 'magic' by these 'wizards'. They are offering you a real place at a real school for magic."

"How did I come by this magic…wait. You said that on my eleventh birthday you would tell me how my parents died! Is this related to it, Uncle?"

His uncle sighed. "Mark, I want you to think for a minute. Our world, what they call the muggle", he spat the word, "world, is broken, yes? War and violence abound because people have hate. The same is true in that other world, the one of wizards. Your parents were killed by dark wizards, themselves followers of what some call the darkest wizard ever. I scoured long and hard to find their names when you were little. The wizarding world is deathly afraid of that dark lord, even after his supposed death. His name is Lord Voldemort. The man who lead the attack on your parents, his name was Rodolphus Lestrange. I myself do not have magic, but your parents did. I rescued you from their house that fateful night on orders of your father, my brother. If Death Eaters, those dark wizards, attacked the house, I was to save you at any cost, even if I needed to kill to do so. I don't want to ruin your image of the Wizarding World, but suffice to say, it is much the same as ours. Do not fall into the trap of thinking that magic can fix all of your problems. Sometimes hard work is the only option."

What followed was the tale that all wizarding children grew up with, about the evil of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his defeat at the hands of the Boy-Who-Lived. Mark's eyes grew yet even wider at the thought of such a world, with such death, and with such magic. In his little eleven-year-old heart, something was born that day. Something that would change the world. For in his heart Mark resolved to make the Wizarding World better, and safe.

"Now then. To get your school supplies, we must go to London. There is a pub there, the Leaky Cauldron, that in the back alley has the entrance to Diagon Alley, where we will find your supplies. I suppose we can go shopping this week." He stopped as Mark cheered. "Now, to enter the train, you must walk through the barrier separation platforms Nine and Ten. I know it seems odd, but trust me. Your father went through that barrier every year to board the Hogwarts Express. I seem to recall a rule that you could not practice magic at home, but now that I think about it, we never received a notice before your father went to Hogwarts. So after we get your wand, you should be able to practice a bit of magic. Just don't show anyone, and don't tell anyone at Hogwarts and we should be good."

Later that week, the duo scoured Diagon Alley for all of their supplies. First they went to Gringotts, the proud marble edifice that dominated the main street of Diagon Alley. Once inside, his uncle spoke to the Goblins and established a trust fund for Mark, for school purposes. He converted enough pounds into galleons so that Mark would have enough locked up in the vault for his entire school career. His uncle also exchanged more, gathering enough galleons for Mark to purchase extracurricular books if he so desired. Their financial business achieved, they set out. The highlight of the trip was their stop at Flourish and Blotts, where Mark purchased all of his required books, including extra. Mark was now the proud owner of all of his supplies, save one. His wand.

They approached Ollivanders, and swept inside. An old man greeted them,

"Ahh, yes… A wand you will need, for Hogwarts? I can fit you, yes, yes" he muttered as they walked in. He started measuring Mark without so much as a by-your-leave. "Wand arm?"

"Er… I am right handed, if that's what you're asking" Mark replied. Ollivander started bringing up wands, testing them. Some did nothing, others jumped out of his hand and flew across the room. Ollivander grabbed another wand and handed it to him. At once, fire blossomed out of the tip in a wide range of colors, sparks flittering through the air like butterflies. Ollivander smirked.

"Aspen wood and dragon heartstring. 12 and a half inches. A wand for revolutionaries. I suppose we can expect change from you" he smiled with the smile of age and experience. Mark gazed at his wand in adoration. It was a pale yellow in color, long enough for swishes, but short enough for stabs. He smiled at Ollivander.

"Thank you, sir"

They left the shop.

Walking down the alley, he saw a man and a child, walking tall down the middle of street, as if they owned the place. His uncle guided Mark to the side of the street, out of their way. The two continued walking down, sneering at everyone.

"Those, Mark, are purebloods. See how the others scurry out of their way? Those are not. See how the shopkeepers are almost kowtowing to them?" Mark nodded. "This is why I hate them. They crush others beneath their feet and use their wealth and bias in the law to achieve their aims. They have the power in this world. No matter what you do, do not anger one of their children. They can easily complain to their parents who can easily expel you."

Mark shuddered. "How can they do that? Can they, I don't know, vote?"

His uncle laughed. "Vote? That would mean there is democracy. There is none. You remember that dark wizard, Voldemort? He fought for pureblood supremacy, and his followers were the 'upstanding members of society' that still walk free today. Your father's murderer, he ended up in Azkaban. But most of them walk free, escaping from justice with a mockery of a trial. They remained after Voldemort's defeat and they continue to spread their corruption."

The man continued walking, roughly shoving aside someone to enter a store beforehand. His son sneered at them as they passed

His uncle continued "If Voldemort returns, he will find it easy to assume all of his old power. The purebloods are deeply entrenched, and it will take a lot to remove them from their power. But don't let it get you down. You will probably be ignored by them. Just keep your head down and do well in school, alright?"

Mark sighed. "Is there anything that is being done to change this, Uncle?" he asked.

His uncle smiled. "The Headmaster of Hogwarts does what he can to change it. But he is up against centuries of tradition. It takes a revolution to change that, yes?"

Since the pureblood had passed, the two continued out of the Alley. "Now let's head back home and you can take a good look at all of your books."

They left the alley and headed home.

The rest of summer flew by in a haze of studying and reading. Mark scoured the books they had purchased, looking for anything that would give him a leg up over the other children. He didn't know whether or not to believe his uncle, after all, Britain was a fairly progressive country. Surely the magical counterpart would be similar? Still, he knew he was at a disadvantage. The other children had grown up with magic!

Looking through his first-year spell book, he found something that caught his eye:

Wingardium Leviosa

The Wingardium Leviosa spell is used as an introduction in the charms course. It is used to levitate objects in the air with the user's wand directing their height. To cast, one says "Wingardium Leviosa!" and gives their wand a swish and a flick while speaking. To make it more powerful, a simple addition is to add strength to the flick at the end. Be careful, however. Improper words can lead to disastrous consequences.

Mark smiled. So this is what he was doing earlier! Raising his wand, he spoke clearly. "Wingardium Leviosa!" and swished and flicked his wand. The book rose slowly up, before dropping as he lowered his wand. Grinning, Mark continued reading and practicing. He read about Transfiguration, the magic of changing things. He read about Potions, the magic of concoctions that boiled and bubbled in the cauldron. He read about the Defense against the Dark Arts, the spells by which wizards defended themselves. He hurried to his Uncle after reading the last one.

"Uncle, did my parents fight the wizards that attacked them?" he asked.

His uncle nodded. "Indeed they did, strong fighters that they were. But they couldn't last against the numbers. I myself barely escaped."

"How did you do that, uncle?" Mark asked.

His uncle beckoned and led him down the hall. Reaching the end closet, he took from the top shelf a small box and eased it open. Inside lay a gleaming pistol, with magazines filled with bullets.

"You mustn't tell anyone about this, Mark. It saved my life, and it may one day save yours. But that does not mean it is not illegal."

Mark nodded seriously "I won't say a word, Uncle."

His uncle smiled. "You will do well at Hogwarts, Mark. You will do your parents proud."

Mark smiled, and went back to his room to practice and to read.


	3. Chapter 2 - Surprising Sorting Ceremony

(A/N) I call Mark a muggleborn because his parents were muggleborn wizards. Don't know what else to call him.

Chapter 2 – A Surprising Sorting Ceremony

Mark sat, on his bed, pondering. In front of him, all of his supplies had been organized. Books were in one pile, clothes in another, note-taking materials followed that, and so on and so forth. The anomaly to this collection of standard Hogwarts supplies was the presence of his ball, for meditation. He didn't know if wizards meditated like he did, and he doubted they would take kindly to his misconception of the magic being "the force". But back to his pondering. Internally, he was debating what Hogwarts House he would be sorted into. Would he be selected for Ravenclaw, the house of wit and intellect? It was no secret at school that he had always done well in his classes, regularly scoring at the top of the class. Hufflepuff was definitely an option as well, according to _Hogwarts, A History_ , the valued hard work and loyalty, and he supposed that if they considered the study habits of the students then he might end up there as well. He did not believe that he would be even considered for Gryffindor. He was much too witty, in his opinion, to be surrounded by what most likely would be brash fools, eager for glory. Slytherin, however, stood out to him from the rest for some reason. It both scared and intrigued him. Ambition, the book said, was a prized trait, as well as cunningness and slyness. However, most of the people his Uncle explicitly directed him to avoid would be in that house, seeing as how as most of the rich, wicked (in his Uncle's words) purebloods were sorted there.

Mark sighed. It was no use worrying about it now, he presumed. After all, it wasn't like he would be hated for be sorted in any particular house! The book he picked up, _Life at Hogwarts_ , did speak of intense rivalry in Quidditch (an odd sounding name for a game, he thought), but he assumed that most students would be above that sort of riff-raff. This was said to be the foremost school in all of Wizarding Europe! According to his letter, at least.

Summer was winding down. The days were shortening only as the shadows lengthened, and a crispness was in the air. In due time, September the First rolled around, and Mark prepared to venture into the unknown, into Hogwarts.

"Now Mark, listen" his uncle began, as they stood on the platform of Nine and Three-Quarters. "You just keep your nose out of trouble, and no trouble will come to you. Don't meddle in the affairs of the purebloods, do well in school, and make me proud." He patted him on the back as he hugged him tightly.

"Uncle, what if I am sorted into Slytherin?" Mark asked. The question had been bugging him ever since he considered the houses.

"Well then, in that case, put them to shame. Show them that blood means nothing" His uncle replied. He hugged him and patted his back. "Off with you, then!" he chortled. "Have fun!"

"Will do Uncle! Goodbye!" Mark called as he hopped onto the train.

The glistening red engine pulled slowly out of King's Cross. Picking up speed, it hurtled down the track, passing by wood and water with a great rush of wind. Mark sat alone in a compartment, curled up with _The_ _Hobbit_. Nary a few passed by his door, although he did see two red-heads running from three girls laughing. Turning back to his book, he was interrupted by someone thrusting the door open. A boy, who looked only a year older poked his head in. Mark looked up.

"Can I help you?" He asked politely.

The other kid sneered slightly. "No, unless you know where that Potter is." He answered.

"I am afraid I don't know, my good man" Mark replied, with a hint of mocking. Blond, pale, and with a Slytherin crest and an entourage of goons in the hall behind him? Most definitely a pureblood.

The blond sneered again and left, slamming the compartment door rudely as he went. Mark just sighed and turned back to his book again. _The nerve of some people_ he though. _Barging in without so much as a by-your-leave_.

The train continued on.

Awhile later, the door opened again. Another student, this one obviously a first-year like Mark, sat down across from him with his trunk.

"Do you mind terribly if I sit here? I didn't particularly care for any of the others. I'll let you read in peace." The child said.

Mark lowered his book. "What was wrong with the others, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Most of them are filled with people who aren't very amicable to first-years like me, and the others are too much, either loud, or annoying, or both" he replied.

"Well, may I get your name? Mine is Mark Fulghum" Mark asked.

"Of course! Andy Harper, at your service!" Andy replied.

"And I am at yours, my good sir!" Mark giggled, standing and performing a bow. Both boys laughed and settled back down. Mark decided to engage in conversation and bookmarked the page and set his book aside. "May I enquire as to what house you want to be in?" Mark continued.

"I aim for Slytherin, actually. Like my mom and dad. They both work for the Ministry of Magic, you know. And not because of their families, surprising as it may seem" he offered.

"Oh? Care to elaborate on that?" Mark leaned forward in his seat.

"Well, they're both purebloods, but they made sure that the jobs they applied in had bosses that didn't know their families. Wanted to do it on their own skill, you see. They both told me that the Sorting Hat told them that they had great ambition, so I guess they belonged there. Don't hold my purebloodedness against me, though. Neither of my parents' families supported You-Know-Who" he continued.

Mark smiled. "I don't hold it against you. I am relieved that you don't support the man whose followers killed my parents. I honestly don't know what house I will be in. Fate shall always as she shall, though. I'm sure I'll be happy with my place."

Andy grimaced. "That sucks. Say, why ought we not to be friends, mate? Call me Andy." He extended his hand.

Mark took it with a grin. "Call me Mark" he replied.

" _We will arrive at Hogwarts in fifteen minutes. Please prepare for our arrival"_

Both boys went to their trunks and dressed in their robes, pinning the badge of Hogwarts on their chest.

"Best of luck to you, Andy"

"Thanks. Same for you, Mark."

The train came screeching to halt in the station at Hogwarts. Chattering, the students swarmed to the carriages that awaited them.

"Firs' Years! Firs' Years o'er here!" A giant of a man called over the crowd. Andy and Mark made their way to the docks where the other new students, clustered and shivering.

"Ar'ight, now listen. No more than three ta' a boat, and there's a low part that yer gonna want to duck. My name's Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys and the grounds at Hogwarts" Hagrid instructed.

Mark quickly grabbed Andy and they hopped in to the first available boat. Another student, a girl with red hair, also joined them. The small boats set off into the lake.

Coming around the bend, Mark caught his first look of Hogwarts. Towers and ramparts ascended and crossed, lights shone, flickering like candles from the windows. Two towers stood out from the lesser ones, looking over the rest of the castle. A bridge he also saw, extending over a yawning chasm, bridging the gap between the main castle and the outer fields. A great hall dominated the foreground of his vision, and below it there was a dock. The students gasped at the sight. Mark himself felt overcome by the splendor of the castle. He turned to Andy.

"This, this is a school?" he whispered in disbelief.

Andy nodded blankly, too mesmerized to offer anything more. They came to the dock at last, where they disembarked.

"I will take them from here, Hagrid" A woman was waiting at the docks for them. "I am Professor McGonagall. Welcome to Hogwarts."

The students gasped as they were lead into the Great Hall. Over their heads, the ceiling twinkled with the starry lights of the night that was outside. Professor McGonagall strode forward and set a hat on a stool. The brim of it cracked open, and it began to sing…

 _Oh you may not like my looks, or you may be repulsed by my smell_

 _But I am the Sorting Hat, and you'll find I do my job well_

 _When you step up to the stool, and raise me up to your head_

 _I will find the best house for you, for you to be lead_

 _In Gryffindor, there you'll find, the brave and the bold_

 _In Ravenclaw there are stores of knowledge great and old_

 _In Hufflepuff, there you will see the fruit of your labors_

 _In Slytherin there you will have cunning and crafty neighbors_

 _So step on up, don't be afraid, I haven't failed yet_

 _You'll be placed with accuracy in the best house you can get!_

The students applauded for the song as Professor McGonagall rolled open her list.

As the first student walked up, Mark turned to Andy.

"Good luck, mate" he whispered.

Andy smiled back.

Soon enough, "Fulghum, Mark!" was called out. Mark walked forward, sat down, and placed the old hat on his head. _Mm, yes, indeed. Ravenclaw, or Slytherin, you say? Can't say I am surprised._ Mark said nothing and simply waited patiently. It wasn't like the hat would still be here if it was defective, right?

 _Oh I assure you, Fulghum, I am not defective. But don't you have an opinion on which house you want? Most students do._

 _I trust you enough to place me correctly,_ Mark answered. _But if you insist, I think I could accomplish the most in Slytherin._

 _That indeed you could._ The Hat replied. _Very well._ "SLYTHERIN!" it shouted. The silver and green table applauded politely and Mark grinned and swept the hat of his head. He walked over and sat down to watch the rest of the Sorting. Now that it was over for him, he felt quite hungry and hoped for it to hurry up a bit.

Later, "Harper, Andy!" was called. A few seconds passed, and then the hat proclaimed, "SLYTHERIN!" Andy walked over to the table and joined Mark to the applause of his new housemates.

Now, with the Sorting finished, the Headmaster stood.

"Now I have a few words, but this is not the time for them, hm? Dig in!"

Mark and Andy both took the plunge into the rich variety of foods offered. It was mostly quiet at the Slytherin table, for the first few minutes at least, as they eased the pains of hunger first before catching up with friends. Halfway through, however, another sour-looking Professor swept in and spoke briefly to Professor McGonagall. Her lips narrowed, and she gestured for the other to lead them out. Mark turned to Andy.

"I wonder what that was all about, hm? Problems already for the Professors?" he chuckled.

Andy chuckled as well. "I suppose we will find out later if it has any importance to us" he replied. Later, they both watched as the Headmaster got up and left as well.

"Someone, or something is in trouble, I guess" Mark commented. Andy merely smirked.

Later, all three of the Professors returned, and the feast moved on to dessert. When they were all pleasantly full, the Headmaster stood again.

"Now, a few announcements. First off, I would like to welcome Professor Lockhart to the teaching staff" at this the man in question smiled with sparkling teeth. "He will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. Also, I must remind you that magic is not allowed in the corridors between classes. The Forbidden Forest is also just that, forbidden" he looked briefly to the Gryffindor table. "Now that you are all pleasantly full, off to bed with you lot! Chop chop!" He clapped his hands. At once there was a great scraping of chairs as the students rose for their beds. One of the Slytherin Prefects approached the first-year, many of whom were clumped together in fear.

"Now, follow us to the dungeons, please. There we will tell you the password" the prefect explained.

They traipsed down to the dark areas of the castle, where at the statue of a snake the prefect spoke. "Mastermind" he intoned. The wall behind the statue slid open. "Now, this password updates monthly. Please check the notice board in the common room so you don't miss it. You, ladies, will find your dorms there," he pointed, "and the lads are over there. Now I recommend a good night's sleep, alright? Classes start tomorrow." With that, he left them.

Mark and Andy both headed over to their dorms, labelled "FIRST YEARS". With the other four boys, they stepped inside. Arranged in a half-circle around a blazing fire place were six beds with green drapes trimmed with silver. The top blanket on each bed was a dark green, surmounting pale green sheets accompanied by white pillows. Black cloth hangings on the walls lent a feeling of coziness and warmth and served to keep in heat during the cold winter months.

"It's cozy" Andy pronounced. The others agreed. After they had all washed and changed, they sat on their beds, to introduce themselves.

"Mark Fulghum"

"Andy Harper"

"Emmanuel Reed"

"Anatole Wilhelm"

"Samuel Alyeska"

"Alexander Vladislav"

Mutual sayings of "My pleasure to meet you" and "Many greetings" followed.

"Well, as the wise prefect said, we ought to turn in, yes?" Alyeska offered,

The others agreed, and soon the room was with the quiet of sleep.


End file.
